


Song For The Dead

by Sunspot (AViewerLikeMe)



Category: Black Panther (2018), Black Panther - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A touch of survivor's guilt, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Apologies, Because Lynda was robbed of that, Canonical Character Death, Character Development, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Final Goodbye, Funerals, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Kind of a songfic, Making Peace with the Past, Past Relationship(s), Post-Black Panther (2018), Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-24 10:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18164234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AViewerLikeMe/pseuds/Sunspot
Summary: The first thing Erik asks of his cousin, really asks of him, is to bring her body home."What's her name again?""Lynda.  Lynda Coretta Roswell."A look at an Alternate Post-BP Universe, where Erik N'Jadaka Stevens must make peace with his latest and hardest kill--the woman he loves.





	Song For The Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> Erik: IS THIS YA UNIVERSE?
> 
> Me:...no.
> 
> Erik: ARE THESE YA CHARACTERS?
> 
> Me:...no.
> 
> Erik: ARE THESE YA NAMES?
> 
> Me: no...except Lynda with a Y, and the last name...
> 
> Erik: ARE THESE YA SONG LYRICS AND TITLE?
> 
> Me:...(sigh) no those are from Thundercat's "Song For The Dead."
> 
> Erik: IS THIS TOO EXTRA FOR A DISCLAIMER?
> 
> Me:...probably.
> 
> Erik: NAW. 
> 
> Me: ok no.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: LOL! Seriously, I was fascinated with the background story for Linda in the movie. After Erik just straight up killed someone who I was made to believe he cared about, I had so many questions that went unanswered because she was a casualty of the plot to further his story. That bothered me because there are so many ways we can interpret the last words shared between them ("I'm sorry Erik." "It's gonna be okay.") as more than just her being desperate to live and him lying that he would before killing her. Honestly, it felt like she was forced to be a sacrifice for her man's revolution, and that opinion, among other things, led me to create this one-shot. I hope you enjoy it!

**Song For The Dead**

 

**ø**

 

The first thing Erik asks of his cousin, really asks of him, is to bring her body home.

His cousin, in a surprising twist of irony, has become a brother to him.As hard as he tried to fight it, Erik expected it to take a millennium before he even acknowledged T’Challa was no longer a threat to him.Instead, six months of intense Wakandan Therapy (and counting) has melted the walls around his heart, to the point where the best moment of his new life is the two of them watching the sunset from the mouth of the same cave he wanted to die in.He’d let the tears fall, and T’Challa let him lean on his shoulder.Since then, he has a brother, who trusts him and loves him more than he ever loved himself, so when Erik asks to bring her body home, T’Challa has no qualms about saying yes.

Shuri does the research, begrudgingly, at her brother’s request.Her forgiveness is hard to win, but she allows him to be her scientific guinea pig as compensation for the damage he once caused.For this favor she’s given him, he’ll have to try on the updated Panther Habit and let her throw random objects at it to see how well the suit can absorb the shock.He’s dealt with worse. 

“What’s her name again?”

“Lynda. Lynda Coretta Roswell.”

According to results, the body was found several hours after he'd left it in the sun, and when it was identified, the remains were sent to a nameless town with one or two relatives who couldn't care enough to have a funeral. Lynda's name, with her death date, is carved into a basic tombstone surrounded by more of the same in the local cemetery.

It’s the _last_ place she would have wanted to rest at.

 

_“Do you think Wakandan funerals are better than ours?” she asked him, rubbing the softened cocoa butter into her skin.“What with all the tech they’ve got?”_

_“My Pops never mentioned that in his journals, so I don’t know,” he said, relishing in the ceiling fan’s air against his chest as he lay in bed.“Why? You tryna plan my funeral already?” A lazy grin curved his lips upward. “Tryna take me down and take over as the Queen, huh?”_

_“No,” she replied seriously. “I’m planning for my funeral.”_

_Silence filled the tiny room, only punctuated by “Pink + White” on the aux-radio and the sound of her hands rubbing the butter on her stomach.He scrunched his eyes tightly closed and pursed his lips, trying to control the shudder that went through him at her response._

_“If we make it to Wakanda, we can do anything however we want,” she finally breaks the tension, “but you and I know it’s not set in stone that I make it out of here alive.You know how I feel about ending up a liability to you.And I don’t wanna lay my body to rest in this country.Some cheap tombstone with my name, my timeline, and the words “Beloved Daughter,” or something.Put me in the garb of my people. Handle me the way they do in Wakanda.And you choose whatever you want to put on my tombstone or urn or whatever.”_

_Erik finally opened his eyes and turned them upon his woman, who was determinedly not looking at him, focused on her arms and chest now.She looked beautiful in the warm lights, but her skin had goosebumps on it like the subject had chilled her to the bone._

_“You showed me love,” sang Frank Ocean, “Glory from above…”_

_Erik sat up steadily and positioned himself behind Lynda with his legs on either side of her.His hands covered hers and scooped the glob on cocoa butter out of her palm, so he could take over her back.Strong, broad sweeps of the palms over every inch of her skin, massaging the butter into nothingness, until the whole of her body felt like satin._

_“Anything you want,” he mumbled into her neck, wrapping his arms around her and gritting his teeth when she squeezed him tight.“Anything you want, it’s yours.Even in death.”_

 

∆∆∆∆∆

 

It isn’t hard to convince the right people to exhume her body. (The extra money into their accounts doesn’t hurt either.) It’s a little awkward convincing them to let him help dig her coffin up.The money covers that too. 

He can feel his fellow diggers' eyes on him, the sweat trickling down the side of his face, and the burn of his hands as they grip the shovel.But he doesn't stop, not for one second, not until the coffin is exposed enough to get down and lift up with his bare hands.He catches the alarmed expressions on their faces and remembers the last time he lifted her into his arms.

 

_“AGH! Boy, why you carrying me over the threshold like this?” she squealed, squirming in his arms while he walked into their hotel suite._

_“Girl, if you don’t keep still,” he grumbled, holding her up like it was nothing.“We ain’t got time for this!I’ve never been able to take my girl to Busan, lemme act out a little, damn!”_

_His eyes latched onto the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony.The sun was resting on the horizon, and the busy lights of the city below would soon be the only thing illuminating the skies.He lightly jogged to the balcony, smiling widely at Lynda’s exaggerated screams.“Come on, girl, you know I got you.”At that, she eased up on the play-struggling and reached out to pull the sliding door open, beaming._

_“I do know, baby.”_

_They stood on the balcony together, watching the Sunset, with her still snuggled in his arms.The burn only started creeping up after fifteen minutes, but still, he stood tall, willing to brave any discomfort for his girl._

 

Now, his arms ache and his knees tremble with the effort of getting her out of that hole.The sun is just starting to set on a town she never belonged in and always wanted to escape from.It is worth every inch of pain, both in his muscles and in his heart. _You’re coming home with me, now,_ He wants to tell her. _We’re going home._

 

∆∆∆∆∆

 

While Okoye and Ayo, in particular, hold a grudge against him (with good reason), the two Dora greet him in Wakanda with something close to tenderness when they see the coffin still in his arms.He hasn't bothered opening it to peek inside; he knows what bodies do after they die, and even the sight of her freshly dead face was a more tolerable memory than decomposing cheeks and hollowed eye sockets.

"Is Shuri in the lab?" is all he greets them with.They nod once and turn to lead the way as if he didn't wander around the lab for hours after he became King to memorize where everything was.He feels the stares of some Council members, and he sees Queen Ramonda's face looking unwillingly sympathetic.He'll take what he can get.But for not, he has a body to—

 _“Mka,_ cousin,” swore Shuri as she lifted the lid to peek inside.“And you want me to do what??”

“Reconstruct her,” he repeated.“I’m not asking you to bring her back to life, I’m just asking for her to not have all that decomposing zombie-looking shit.”

Shuri looks over at T'Challa, who is leaning against a desk with his arms crossed, watching their conversation stonily. They share a look, hers of complete confusion, his of resignation.Erik doesn't mind waiting as long as he needs to.The coffin sits on one of Shuri's tables, looking like a soot stain on a white tablecloth.He keeps blinking rapidly, to imagine the coffin as sleek Vibranium or Jabari Wood, painted jet-black with intricate golden designs.Something fit for a Queen.

“N’Jadaka.” Shuri’s voice jolts him out of his thoughts.She’s breathing deeply, with her eyes determinedly stuck on the coffin.“You want me to make her look alive again for her funeral?”

He shakes his head, pulls out his cellphone and scrolls through his Camera Roll until he finds his favorite picture, holding it out to his cousin.“I want you to make her look at peace for her funeral.”

She stares at the picture for a full twenty second before looking up at him and nodding. When he sees her eyes flash with sorrow, he knows she understands him.

 

_“…rik?” she mumbled through closed lips, one arm reaching out from under the sheets._

_He grinned widely, his thumb hovering over his phone screen to take another picture.“Shhh, go back to sleep baby…”_

_Her face scrunched up as she reached out to weakly swipe at his phone hand.“Boy if you don’t get—why are you doing this now?Oh my god, I’m not even camera-ready yet!Is this some kinda blackmail or something to hold over my head?”_

_He knew she was joking, the way her lips curved upward in contrast with her furrowed eyebrows, and they’d both made much darker jokes before.But this time, it just wasn’t funny.Not when she’d made him painfully aware that he need never blackmail her into doing anything he asked of her, even if it led to her own destruction.More importantly, this moment, in a hotel room facing the sunrise, was one of the few peaceful ones they had together.Untouched by their demons—his demons._

_So he answered her with a resounding, "Nah.This is just for me.So I can see what you look like when you ain't stressing over all the bullshit." He talked quickly over her opening mouth."We in the middle of some fucked up shit, and I know it's all gonna be worth it, but you put yourself through a lot to stick by me.I notice that shit.I don't forget who's stuck with me from day one, who's just out here losing sleep for me. . ." He put a finger to her lips, knowing she was going to downplay the circles under her eyes._

_"It don't make you weak to have shit take a toll on you.I know that.I live that shit every day.You just got into it because of me.And it's gotta be that way until I'm King.But this—" he held up the picture so she could see her angelic face in sweet slumber — "This is what I want for you.All the time.You, sleeping in late, wrapped in nice sheets fit for the Queen you gonna be.This right here is the goal, baby.And part of my motivation now is to make sure my ride or die gets the reward she deserves."_

_He pecked her sniffling nose and smirked at her rapidly blinking eyelids.She rolled her eyes in an attempt to play it off."Alright, King, you do whatever you gotta do.But right now, I wanna chill in bed and watch this sunrise, so quit playing' photographer and get in here!"_

 

∆∆∆∆∆

 

It takes Shuri all of three days to reconstruct Lynda's face, which Erik won't lay eyes on until her funeral.Later, he'll find out why it took her so long; synthetic camouflage vibranium takes time to settle into the right hues and tones for real skin, but Shuri was also compelled to enhance Lynda's hair to its natural state, the way it was in that picture.Erik is eternally grateful, and can't wait to see it.

In those three days, he has been writing out a eulogy to read at the ceremony.T'Challa had taken him to a group funeral for all the Wakandans lost in battle while he'd been King (self-forgiveness feels so far away sometimes), and the ceremony was heartbreakingly beautiful.Everyone gathered around a body of water at sunset, when the skies turned purple and pink, and the bodies were placed in the center, on a floating platform.The King spoke first, then the Elders, then the family and friends of each Wakandan.A choir of singers chanted through the lighting of vibranium candles with colorful flames that sparked violently, and the bodies, each wrapped in the colors of their respective tribe, would be covered in those sparks.By the time it died down, the sparks stayed twinkling on those bodies like glowing fireflies. The platform divided itself into little platforms for every single person and contorted itself into a coffin (Shuri's genius.)Those coffins would float and land on the shore, and the Tomb Guards carried them to where they would rest for eternity. 

That’s not what Erik wants for Lynda. 

Well, it is, but not with Wakanda watching.

As well as he had started to get on with his family and those in the castle (SOME of them) he had no love lost for the rest of the country, who still sneered and eyed him distastefully when he walked by.He knew that they held (well-founded) fear of him, but also disdain for him and his American blood.Lynda, with no direct ties to Wakanda whatsoever, would be tolerated at best by the people in a ceremony.Erik can't be held responsible for what his inner Leopard does if he spots one hint of disrespect at his baby's funeral.Only the royal family for this one.(And W'Kabi.Fuck everyone's opinion; the two of them understand each other in a way no one ever could.)

“She doesn’t have any family back home to call?” Shuri asks in passing. 

Erik glares at a wall and doesn't answer for a long time.Finally, he says, "They not her real family.Family is more than blood, Princess."

Shuri, to her credit, takes the answer at face value and doesn’t say more.

 

T'Challa asks him if there is anywhere, in particular, he wants to bury Lynda, since Erik is opposed to her lying in the tombs with the very people who neglected and forgot her. 

“Somewhere secluded, where only I can go and _nobody_ else knows about,” he says, leaning back in his cousin’s office chair.“Except you, of course,” he adds nonchalantly.

“Even if I knew, once you laid her to rest I would not venture there without your express permission,” T’Challa replies seriously.Damn.Did Erik really ever expect to stay hating this dude forever?How can anyone hate him when all he does is try and try and try to do right by everyone?Shit!Admits when he’s wrong and goes in a calculated full mile to make it right.Never misses a meeting or an event, even when he’s sick and tired.Always defends M’Baku in council meetings when the elders try to fuck with him.Brings all the women in his life to the center and redefines Black Love with Nakia every day.

And everything he does for Erik. 

It’s why T’Challa was the first person he allowed to call him by his birth name.That, and when he closes his eyes his cousin’s voice kind of sounds like Baba.

“There is a place,” T’Challa’s voice breaks in, “between the Jabari and the rest of us.It is ten kilometers off the path, and within five minutes of climbing, leads to a hilltop overlooking the trees.It is the freshest air I’ve ever felt.And we have the freshest air in the world.” T’Challa winks.Erik snorts.“Go see for yourself if that is the place for you.If so, I will have it prepared for the burial at once, and roped off from anybody else.”

Erik stares at his cousin intently.He’s done that a lot since he first woke up in their hospital.He knows he won’t find any of the malice he thought he’d find; he just wants to look at this man, with the cheekbones and jaw of T’Chaka and the gentle warm eyes of N’Jobu.He is the closest thing Erik has to his father, more than any other family member, and calling him cousin just sounds too distant, too removed in blood for the bond they have now.

 _“Ndiyabonga, mzalwana,”_ he rasps out, watching T’Challa’s eyes widen before they melt into emotion.He can only press his lips together to hide the trembling.

T’Challa swallows hard and responds, so gently, like Baba on a stormy night, cradling his son in his arms and telling him stories about home.

 _“Uhlala unami,_ N’Jadaka.”

 

∆∆∆∆∆

 

When the day of the funeral arrives, it is with his family at his side, somber and silent. W'Kabi stands next to him, the forlorn look on his face real enough to keep his detractors quiet.Apart from the chanters, there is no outsider to witness the ceremony, just as Erik wanted.Their mournful voices blend in harmony perfectly, as if the grief is their own to bear. 

The sky is caught between dusty pink and starry indigo, two sides of the same beautiful coin. Just like him and her.Most people would call him the dark starry sky, the "black hole" of uncertainty, overwhelming her, the light.But really it's Erik who's been the sun, blinding white-hot with rage and overwhelming in its need to be the center of attention.Lynda was the thing that calmed him down, sent cool breezes through the plains of his mind.So much so that he'd push back against her, every time he felt himself turning into a sunset.

What was the point of fighting warmth with fire?When all he had to do was find another way to fulfill his Destiny.He could have had her with him right now, comparing them to the sky’s colors, listening to her laugh and swat his arm.Shame on him.

Shame on him even more for realizing everything too late.What a waste of knowledge.

Her body, wrapped in the colors of Pan Africanism, waits in the middle of the waters for him to finish his eulogy.For some reason he had chosen to write a biography of her life, leading all the way up to when they fell in love.He can’t help but regret that now.It sounds so clinical coming from him, even though his own family is dabbing their eyes. 

“She was the best at hand to hand combat, more than half the dudes I ever worked with. But it was her ability to blend in anywhere and get any information that made her so valuable to work with.She could be the librarian or the gossipy customer or the stressed out single mama, or the—“ his voice hitches— “—the new coffee girl at a Museum.She liked her ability to hide in plain sight, but she also liked…fooling people into thinking she was something else other than what she was.She called it ‘deadly dress-up,’ she was corny like that…but she did eventually wanna find out who she was outside of all the shit we were doing…and she couldn’t wait to see Wakanda…so she could actually be someone new.”

Keeping his tears from falling is harder than it ever was when he was a child trying not to show emotion in the face of police officers demanding to see his hands.

"She never got that chance…but at least she gets to be in Wakanda, in body and spirit, where she always belonged.May the Goddess Bast wrap you in her arms and carry you safely to the afterlife.Death is not the end."

W'Kabi grips his shoulder tightly, and Shuri leans against him, wrapping an arm around his waist.The physical comfort is somewhat grounding, and they all watch the Chanters light the candles, covering her body in sparks of yellow and purple, and glorious sight against the backdrop of Wakanda's famous sunset. _She should have been able to see it,_ he thinks, swaying on his feet.

 

_“Close your eyes…Rest your head…You are dead…We’re resolved…”_

_The vibration of her voice soothed his skin, currently aching from the five new scars on his back.Half of it welcomed the relief, while the other half shunned the need for comfort; he wanted this to hurt.He deserved this pain the most._

_Estella Bryan, Shemia Tomlin, Luke Jackson, Marigold Jackson, and an unborn child.Under siege in an attack on their village, an attack that Erik and his team facilitated in order to draw out the enemy.When the enemy in question escaped into a house, they were ordered to shoot it up.Then there were three people stumbling out the door, waving their hands in surrender for a crime they never committed.Then their target came out, holding a pregnant woman in front of him with a gun to her head.She was frozen with fear, silent tears in her eyes, while the other three screamed and begged for her life.Erik had hesitated for the first time in years, struck dumb by the thought of crossing this line._

_He’d paused too long; another team member said ‘Fuck it,’ and took the shot himself.It got to its target, and he fell to the ground, but it was a messy shot, going through the side of the woman’s throat, leaving her gurgling and gasping, clutching her stomach for dear life. ‘No survivors,’ was their order.But Erik was compelled to hold her gently in his arms for comfort before he ended her misery.She looked up at him, knowing she was going to die and hating it.“God bless you, Ma,” he’d said under his breath, and ended her pain with a quick headshot._

_Erik came home to Lynda that day, punching the wall and screaming himself hoarse.She sat tensely and waited until he was calmer._

_“Where do you want them to go, Erik?”she asked softly._

_He had hung his head low and gestured to the space of his upper back._

_"You'll remember them, baby.You always remember them."_

_Now they were here, spooning in bed, both shirtless and exhausted, the new scars burning into his skin, and he welcomed it._

_"Remember what you said to me, Erik?" said Lynda, caressing the side of his face."That it was gonna be the worst path I ever took in my life, and I was gonna be someone I hated, but the endgame would be worth it?That it'd be worth it when we see our people liberated all over the world?That we'd make a tomb for all the souls we took along the way, and give them a place to rest?"Her lips pressed into his neck firmly."We're gonna remember them, baby.You and me together.And when we get to Wakanda, you'll give them to your Panther Goddess and they'll be at peace."_

_“Damn, woman…” Erik croaked after a long silence, “how you gonna quote me better than me?”_

_She merely giggled and starting rubbing his arms._

_“Now what’s that song you were singing?”_

_“You like it?It’s from Thundercat, it’s called ‘Song For The Dead.’ I thought, well,” she sounded embarrassed as hell, “I thought it was appropriate.”_

_Erik grabbed Lynda’s arms and pulled them tighter around his body.So he was a big baby somewhere in there, where only she could see.And?It was no one’s business.“Yeah, keep singing that, Ma.It’s doing some shit to me I kind of need right now.”_

_Her voice, so nurturing, continued on._

_“Travel safe, Star express…Earth to Earth…Surf the Cosmos…Smell the space dust…Find your way home.”_

 

∆∆∆∆∆

 

Time slows down while he carries her body to the special burial spot T'Challa saved for him.The Funeral procession can only go so far before he needs his baby girl all to himself.No one complains, although for some reason he half-expected them to.They exchanged somber goodbyes and went back to the palace.

That may have been half an hour ago.Or forty-five minutes.Who gives a fuck?He’s already here.

Of course, there is already a perfectly shaped hole dug up for Lynda.T'Challa is too good for this world, and Erik will say such a thing out loud after everything they've been through, but at least he knows it.

With no small amount of care, Erik lays his blanketed Queen down on a bed of grass and pulls back the cloth from her face, the very thing he’s been aching to do since this day started.

Her face is exposed and he gasps.

She is so fucking beautiful. 

Her skin is smooth and brown, a little darker than he remembers, but flawless all the same, just like it was before.Her hair is that naturally curly state she had it in before flat-ironing it for their mission’s convenience, which in no way detracted from her beauty, but it’s this messy black mane of curls that he loves the most.Her eyebrows, the mole under her chin, even her long lashes are curled exactly the way they were in life.And on her lips is the slightest hint of a smile, the way it would be when she was in the middle of a particularly pleasant dream.

Somewhere in the back of his mind is a voice telling him to protect Shuri at all costs, but he’ll get to that a mother time.

Right now, he sinks to his knees, leaning over his lost love’s face.

“Hey, baby girl,” he greets her in a broken voice filled with all the grief he’s held in for far too long.“You look so beautiful.Just like that picture I took of you, Shuri made sure of that.She’s something else, that Princess, I wish you could meet her.Maybe you could see her from wherever you at?Are you watching all of us?”

Carefully, he eases her into his arms, cradling her like a precious artifact.Her head rolls toward his chest. 

“I wanted to say this to you alone, cause…cause I know it’s not for anyone to hear but you.Cause you know, you and me, we’ve been through so much shit together…”

Too much.

"They don't understand it, as much as they want to.It's like they know what I did, but they all just forgive me and shit and they're waiting on me to forgive myself.But that's…it's not like that." He shakes his head and his locs fall in front of his face.Damn them; blocking his view of her.

“Because you weren’t supposed to die, baby.You weren’t supposed to be any fucking casualty, you were supposed to make it all the way to Wakanda with me.I was supposed to prove to you that you didn’t need to make that kinda sacrifice for me at all cause I always got you.And the first sign of trouble I shot you in the _fucking head.”_ Choking out that last bit hurts his throat, like choking out a chicken bone that was trapped in your esophagus.But Erik keeps going.He owes her his pain.

“You know what the worst part of all this is?” A sniffle.“You know what’s worst of all?It’s that I put you through all that shit, all that work, all that risk and drama and death only to pay you with a headshot, just to get to Wakanda, and I was _wrong._ I was so wrong about it _all._ Killing my people didn’t make me the leader they needed.Threats and violence only made it all worse, made it easier for them to turn against me when T came back.All those weapons in the hands of regular-ass people with no fucking instructions besides…what, ‘kill the racists?’ What if they didn’t listen?What if they just killed who the fuck ever and turned against me?I was so fucking wrong, girl, so wrong about it all and the only thing I was right about was something needing to change.And fucking T’Challa, the son of my father’s killer, is the one who forgives me first out of all these Wakandans.What kind of life am I living, baby?”

She doesn’t answer.It makes his tears fall faster.

“Everything I made us do was for nothing, for the wrong fucking reasons, and if I’d just calmed the fuck down and not burned it all to the damn ground, maybe I woulda not been in that lot with Klaue…and you’d still be alive…you’d get to see the sunset right there with me…”

She’s still not answering, and his breath comes out harsh and ragged with the effort of speaking through his tears.

“I’m sorry, baby…I’m so sorry.I should found another way. Any other way to keep you with me.You trusted me, you loved me and cared for me longer than my own damn parents, you fought for me and bled for me…said you would die for me…and I actually gave you—I—I g-gave you death…”

_Fucking answer me, dammit.Say something.Open your eyes._

_“_ It should have been me…I should have shot myself in the fucking head before I hurt you…you should be the one alive, why am I…why the fuck I gotta be here when…”

Erik throws his head up to the skies and cries out in a hoarse and broken voice, “Why the fuck I gotta be here when she isn’t?!

It’s the last thing he has to say for a long time, when he hunches over her pretty face, holds her tightly, and cries like a newborn child.

 

_“Babe…” Lynda squeaked, her hands flying to slap themselves over her cheeks.“Babe…”_

_“You done said that about ten times already,” Erik replied cheekily, trying to hide the tightness in his stomach.“I’m gonna need an answer from you tonight, girl!”_

_She took a series of deep shuddering breaths before crouching down in front of him, cupping his hands in her own, her eyes on the black diamond ring in the box he held._

_“Are you—“ she cleared her throat, “—are you_ sure _about this?”_

_He couldn’t help but scoff.“The fuck you mean I’m sure?I don’t do anything I’m not sure of, you know that!” A terrible thought occurred.“Unless…you the one not sure—“_

_“Oh, no, don’t you DARE,” Lynda snapped, pointing a finger in his face.“You know I want this more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my whole damn life!”_

_“So what’s the problem?”_

_She sighed and squeezed his hands.“I’m just…shocked, is all.”_

_“Shocked that I’d want you to marry me?”_

_“Shocked that you’d ask me to marry you_ now,” _Lynda looked around their hotel room, “right before a mission that’ll make or break everything you’ve worked for.I thought maybe you’d wait ‘till after we got to Wakanda and you became King.”_

_Erik rolled his eyes; his baby was almost too invested in getting him where he needed to be."Why would I wait for that long, girl?I've been wanting to marry your ass, of course, Imma do it in Wakanda, but what's wrong with proposing now?"_

_“Because you can’t afford to have too many distractions,” said Lynda with an air of sad acceptance.“You told me so yourself, at the start of this month.”_

_His shoulders deflated; It was true that he’d been extra on her ass about staying focused on the prize, now that it was so close he could taste it.He did talk less and shoot more, joke less and plan more, and sleep came so rarely to him that Lynda had been often sleeping and waking up in bed alone.She seemed to understand; Hell, sh clearly still understood, and never complained.But not once did he expect her to feel so neglected that something like THIS was a surprise to her._

_“Hey,” he said gently, setting down the box on the floor and cupping her face in his hands.“Look at me.”_

_She blinked up at him slowly, reluctantly, shamefully, and it made him furious with himself._

_“I am N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu,” he told her firmly.“I am the son of a Prince who went against a whole-ass King and Brother to better the lives of his people all over the world.He risked his life, his freedom, and the exposing of his damn country to try and see that shit through._

_“He also,” Erik continued, nuzzling her nose, “met and married my mom.By the time he started his revolution, she was a part of it with him, as his wife.He put her and me above himself.It was us that motivated him.He didn’t make a lotta friends, but he did have his ride-or-die.And that was all he needed.”_

_Lynda’s eyes welled up, which he took to be a good sign._

_“All I got, besides this legacy that my Pops started, is_ you. _You ride for me, I ride for you.We fight together, we bleed together, and we gon rule together.That’s already gonna happen regardless of whether I ask you officially now or later.Why wait later?When something could happen tomorrow?Fuck that.I wanna know it now, baby girl.Lynda Coretta Roswell—“_

 _“Oh not the_ government,” _she faux-moaned through a wide smile._

_“You gonna marry this King or not?”_

_They both burst into laughter at the very same time.It was therapeutic, leaning against each other like two stone pillars looking for a wall to rest on.Through her giggles, she said yes, and just like he planned, Erik called out to his little Alexa, "Play ‘The Matrimony' by Wale."_

_“Oh, on God, you stupid, Erik,” she cackled, as he lifted her to her feet and made them slow dance together, like two teenagers in a school prom._

_“‘Don’t worry I got plans for you!’” He sang along with the hook in a cracked voice, potentially ruining the romantic mood with his bullshit, but it didn’t matter, because she knew why he’d picked this song, and why he was singing it to her._

_He’d had plans all his life.Now he had even more, and no matter what, Lynda would always, always be a part of them._

 

But that was all not meant to be, he realizes, drying his eyes and calming his breath.The sky is completely dark indigo now, and the stars twinkle madly as if to let him know they are there, watching over him and his love.  Like a silent vigil, a far-away witness to her passing.

Unexpectedly, the song she had sung to him in his lowest moments flows through his own raw throat.A proper send-off, the kind she truly deserves.

 

_Close your eyes,_

_Rest your head,_

_You are dead…_

_We’re resolved,_

_Travel safe,_

_Star express,_

_Earth to Earth,_

_Surf the cosmos,_

_Smell the space dust,_

_Find your way home_

 

In the following silence, he imagines she would have approved.

With a renewed sense of determination, he tidies up the wrappings about her body, preparing to finally bury her, but before he covers her face, he caresses her head one last time.

"I put you in the garb of your people like you asked," he whispers."You're in Wakanda now, baby.Look at you!Bast is right there, waiting to meet you.You're gonna run through grass and climb trees and meet your ancestors.You're gonna be alright.And I'll come back and visit you whenever I can, okay?I promise."

She will never answer him back, but at least she looks like she’s sleeping, and dreaming of the life they could have had together.Like she’s at peace with everything that’s ever been or will be, and just wants to have a nice slumber.And the small smile on her lips…maybe she does hear him.

He strokes her cheek so tenderly it hurts his heart.“Save a spot up there for me, okay?I love you.”

He should have said it more when they were alive. He just thought his words and actions proved it.If he'd known how much he'd come to regret not saying it, she would have gotten sick of hearing it. 

She can’t get sick of it now.

So he says it again, in the sacred language of his true homeland.

_“Ndiyakuthanda, mthandi wam.Umfazi wam.Ikumkani wam.”_

 

∆∆∆∆∆

 

Unsurprisingly, T’Challa is waiting for him at the outskirts of the Golden City.He doesn’t ask about the burial, or the reconstructed face, or what was said.Erik knows he wouldn’t, and for that he is achingly grateful.They simply walk together in silence towards home. 

Home.

“They are serving dinner soon,” T’Challa remarks carefully.“Just the family, in the Lounge center.”At Erik’s raised eyebrows, he explains, “A more relaxed setting felt called for this evening.You are…welcome to join us…unless you would rather take time to yourself tonight.No one would fault you for it.”

Erik thought he was done crying, but a prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes says otherwise.Of course, no one would fault him for wanting to be alone.That’s how family works; they understand.Like his Pops.Like his Mom.Like Lynda.Family through blood and love. 

His footsteps have slowed to a stop. 

“Erik?” T’Challa says worriedly, stepping forward, “are you alright?Is there anything I can do?”

 

∆∆∆∆∆

 

The second thing Erik asks of his cousin, truly asks of him, is nonverbal; he drags his feet towards T’Challa and leans against him, clutching at his shoulders.Wordlessly, T’Challa wraps his arms right around his cousin—his _brother—_ and rubs the back of his neck comfortingly.He offers no empty condolences or promises that everything is gonna be okay, because it’s not.

“I’ve got you, N’Jadaka,” he breathes into Erik’s ear, and his voice sounds so much like his father that he hugs his cousin tighter, trembling.“You’ve got me.We’ve all got each other.It will be okay.”

And it will. 

In the far, far future.

 

ø

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mka --- Fuck
> 
> Ndiyabonga, mzalwana --- Thank you, brother.
> 
> Njalo --- Always.
> 
> Ndiyakuthanda, mthandi wam. Umfazi wam. Ikumkani wam. --- I love you, my dear. My wife. My queen.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: So...this was a lot. I had a lot of moments I wanted to quit because getting into this relationship that I had no canonical proof of, save for one kiss in a car, is mentally exhausting. But it was worth it to see it all the way through. Please share feedback. Comments to a writer are like the hear-shaped herb to the Black Panther. Thanks to everyone to reads!


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